Secret Door
by writingbutunpublished
Summary: This is a 12 part series based on Evanescence's recent self-titled album. It's set after the series two finale and it follows the characters as they deal with the aftermath of those events. TRIGGER WARNING FOR MENTAL ILLNESS.
1. What you Want

**This is right after Sherlock's suicide. I want to preface this by saying that I mean no disrespect or misrepresentation of mental illness or those that have it and if you are offended by any of this or if I make a factual error, please call me out on it so I can fix it/apologize. I highly ****recommend that you listen to the songs as your read these, but obviously I have no way of tracking you down and forcing you to do so. But really. please. It improves the impact I promise. I will be posting Youtube links for all of them. I hope you enjoy! watch?v=wVWazHTunSI **

**What You Want**

John had been at the station for hours. If the worried expression Lestrade kept shooting him was any indication, the inspector was keeping him there on purpose in order to keep an eye on him. He should have complained, should have wanted to go home. But home wasn't really home anymore was it? Sherlock was gone. He had tried to take down Moriarty alone, just like he did everything else and now he was gone. He'd always done what he wanted, Sherlock.

_Do what you, what you want  
If you have a dream for better  
Do what you, what you want  
'til you don't want it anymore (remember who you really are)_

He sat there, retreating into himself farther and farther, answering questions in a robotic, reflexive manner. Soon enough Mrs. Hudson arrived, sobbing heavily. He stood as she approached, allowing her to collapse in his arms, patting her back gently as she cried into his shoulder.

"Are you done here, love?" she asked. "I don't want to go home alone." She looked at him hopefully, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. Did he want to go back to the place where his life had started over now that it had been turned upside down again? No. but he couldn't deny Mrs. Hudson's request. With a huge sigh he collected his coat and guided the older woman out the door.

In the cab, Mrs. Hudson continued to sniff. After a minute she reached over and patted John's hand, which lay flat against the car seat. He almost pulled away from the touch, as it began to anchor him to the realities of the day, but he didn't want to hurt Mrs. Hudson's feelings so he allowed it, desperately trying to not fall apart in the cab.

_Do what you, what you want  
Your world's closing in on you now (it isn't over)  
Stand and face the unknown (got to remember who you really are)_

Every heart in my hands  
Like a pale reflection

The door to the flat closed with a soft click behind him. Sherlock usually slammed it, he thought and that was it. He didn't know if it was thinking about him while in the flat or thinking about him at all in such a normal, everyday way but that was it. With a soft groan he dropped to the floor on his knees. He tried to breath but he couldn't manage to completely inflate his lungs so he settled for quick shallow breaths that made him light headed. He couldn't think, or move. The only thing he seemed to be aware of was that most of him was gone and what was left _hurt_. The remaining bits of John Watson had collected in his chest, settled there heavily, and throbbed. He dropped the rest of the way to the floor.

Hello, hello, remember me?  
I'm everything you can't control  
Somewhere beyond the pain  
There must be a way to believe  
We can break through

He had no concept of how long he sat there, allowing the pain to fade to a dull pulse over his heart, replaying the moment over and over again. Why did he do it? How could he just…give up like that? How could he leave him here like this? Without consciously deciding to, he quickly stood, walking over to the couch where the stained, worn Union Jack throw pillow lay. He picked it up, and stared at it for a few seconds, running a shaking hand down the faded flag pattern. As he went to toss it back on the couch a sent hit his nostrils; Cigarette smoke, rosin, and a hint of washing powder.

**_John stomped into the living room, waving the empty box about._**

**_"did you know we were out?" he demanded of Sherlock, who lay on the couch, eyes closed, toying with his violin bow._**

**_"Of what, John?" he said calmly, which only irritated John farther._**

**_"The washing powder, you git!" he said._**

**_Sherlock's bright blue eyes flew open and fixed on John. At the sight of his florid, angry face, the other man grinned at John. Most of his anger drained away instantly but he retained enough of it to snatch the pillow from beneath Sherlock's head and smacked him in the face with it before heading out to get more washing powder. _**

Do what you, what you want  
You don't have to lay your life down (it isn't over)  
Do what you, what you want  
'til you find what you're looking for (got to remember who you really are)

But every hour slipping by  
Screams that I have failed you

With an anguished shout, he threw the pillow across the room, knocking over a lamp. He snatched the three other pillows that sat on the couch, throwing them about the room in turn, managing to knock over a tea cup, an ash tray, and a vase. That done, he began to search for other things to throw. Books, cups, and newspapers became the next victims of his rage then he began flipping furniture. The couch, which was old and heavy took some doing but when it finally lay, cushions down on the rug he ran began to run out of steam.

Hello, hello, remember me?  
I'm everything you can't control  
Somewhere beyond the pain  
There must be a way to believe

Hello, hello, remember me?  
I'm everything you can't control  
Somewhere beyond the pain  
There must be a way to believe

With his back pressed against the bottom of the couch and his head on his knees, the tears that had refused to fall until now came pouring down his face.

"Why?" he gasped hoarsely into the empty room. "How could you leave me like this?"

Somewhere within the confines of his own mind, Sherlock's voice echoed.

"It was the only way, John." It said.

Wonderful. Now he was hearing voices. His sobs began afresh and he curled up on the cold floor. He remained there, sobbing, until the sun rose.

There's still time  
Close your eyes  
Only love will guide you home  
Tear down the walls and free your soul  
'Til we crash  
We're forever spiraling  
Down, down, down, down


	2. Made of Stone

**John is getting worse in this one, guys. watch?v=0GOEvKk4LtA  
**

**Made of Stone**

Three weeks, two days, and eleven hours. That's how long it had been since Sherlock had taken his own life, and John Watson had felt every second of it. _You've been counting? How pathetic. _Sherlock's voice sneered in his head. John clutched the sides of his head. This wasn't the first time that he had heard the consulting detective's voice. As a doctor he knew what was going on, he just refused to admit it. _You're obviously suffering from some form of schizophrenia triggered by my death. _Clearly Sherlock didn't have the same hang up.

John nearly jumped out of his skin when his mobile rang. A quick glance at the read out confirmed his suspicions. Molly again. He allowed it to go to voice mail like he had done for three weeks. _And two days and eleven hours, remember. _"Damn, it man shut up!" he shouted, causing the woman and child approaching to cross the street in an effort to avoid him. He shook himself and moved more quickly down the street. In a few minutes he was pushing through the door of the flat. He sighed as he raked a stack of take away containers off the couch as he settled in. _your becoming quite the slob, John. And you used to cook. _Sherlock said.

"I will do whatever a damn well please. You don't live here anymore remember. You're…" he let his voice trail off before he actually said it. _Dead. Stupid not to say it, John. You were an army doctor you've dealt with more death than most people. _

"You have got to stop talking to me." He moaned, dropping his head into his hands. "I can't keep doing this."

_Speak your mind,  
Like I care  
I can see your lips moving  
I've just learned not to hear  
Don't waste your time_

It's never enough for you baby  
Don't want to play your game anymore  
No matter what you say  
I'm all out of love for you, baby  
And now that I've tried everything  
I'll numb the pain,  
'Til I am made of stone

_You are the one harboring auditory hallucinations, John. I cannot stop anything until you seek help for your condition. Not that woman you were going to before we met though, she was terrible. _"It's incredible. You manage to be condescending and judgmental from the grave!" he bellowed and began to pace the room. "There is nothing wrong with me!" _  
_

_Take your time  
I'm not scared  
Make me everything you need me to be  
So the judgment seems fair_

Don't waste your time

"I am an adult, damn it." He raved. "I got on fine before we met and I can get on fine now if you will just stop telling me I'm crazy and GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" with that he dropped back down on the couch, his chest heaving as if he had run several miles. There was a simple solution to this, he decided. He only ever heard Sherlock's voice when he allowed the man's absence to affect him, so all he had to do was just stop letting it affect him. _That's not going to work. _John let out a frustrated growl and heading for the cabinet were he kept the scotch.

_I'll numb the pain  
'Til I am made to_

Tear out my heart  
For the way that it feels  
I will still remember when you've long forgotten me

After his third scotch, John decided that this no emotions plan was working quite well. He hadn't heard Sherlock's voice in several hours and the warm buzz from the scotch was making him sleepy, which was something he hadn't felt in weeks. As he lay back in bed, his forth glass of dark liquor in his hands, he was sure he could beat this…whatever it was, on his own. _You are capable of doing a great many things on your own John, but overcoming a mental disorder is not one of them. I should know. _

John sat upright in the bed and with a mighty roar he heaved the glass against the far wall, watching the dark liquid slide down it for a few seconds before dropping back down on the bed and pressing the pillow tightly to his ears.

_It's never enough  
It's never enough  
It's never enough  
I'll numb the pain  
'Til I am made of stone_


	3. The Change

**I had some formatting issues with the centering that I can't seem to fix so sorry about that. Um...yeah, this is the new one. I wrote half of this before I had the confidence to post because it was so emotional so that's why I'm posting all of them at once. there will be a bit of a wait between 6 and 7. watch?v=3oSDUAIE6sU**

**The Change**

_Thought that I was strong  
I know the words I need to say_

"Doctor Watson?" Molly shouted as she pounded on the door. "Doctor Watson, I know you're in there, just open the bloody door." She sighed impatiently and rattled the door knob. "OY! JOHN!" she bellowed, mostly sarcastically. This was the third time this week she had attempted to visit him to no avail. Much to her surprise, the lock clicked and the door slowly opened to reveal the doctor and Molly fought not to cry. He looked like death. His skin had turned sallow and his eyes had dimmed. If Molly had to guess, she'd say he hadn't showered in several days. "What do you want Molly." He said wearily.

She almost laughed. what did she want? She wanted to be able to tell this man who had always looked at her with kindness and respect that the loss that was tearing him apart was a lie constructed to save him. she wanted to never see this sad, broken man that stood before her now again.

_Frozen in my place  
I let the moment slip away_

"I want you to stop this." She said instead. She had promised Sherlock that she wouldn't tell. That it would be dangerous for anyone else to know and she wouldn't break that promise. "You haven't been out of this flat in two weeks, John." She said, forcing her way past him, shopping bags in tow. she wrinkled her nose at the smell but didn't pause as she began to tidy up. "How long has it been since you've eaten?" she asked over her shoulder. "I don't know." He mumbled. His voice sounded hollow.

"Well you are going to eat today." She said. She coxed John into the shower, which took the better part of twenty minutes and finished tidying the flat while he stood under the spray.

I've been screaming on the inside  
And I know you feel the pain  
Can you hear me?  
Can you hear me?

John leaned his forehead against the wall of the shower. He could hear Molly moving about the flat. _I told Molly to take care of you. I can't fathom why you won't let her. I'm starting to think you are more stubborn than I am if that's possible. _Said Sherlock. His voice had been getting clearer and more frequent over the past few weeks. "I don't need any damn help." He hissed. _Bollocks. You're hearing voices and drinking and the apartment smells like a dead thing. I'm gone, John. It's over. Get some help. _Sherlock's voice sounded more sad and helpless than it had in life. No, thought John. There was one other time it had sounded like that before he started hearing it in his head. That faithful phone call he had made when he had begged John to keep his eyes fixed on him… John turned off the shower and replied softly "Doesn't stop me needing you."

Say it's over,  
Yes it's over  
But I need you anyway  
Say you love me but it's not enough

Molly could hear John talking to himself from the kitchen. According to Mrs. Hudson he had been doing that a lot lately. She told Molly that she had stopped checking on him because he always ignored her anyway. It wasn't until he had turned off the water that she heard exactly what he was saying "Doesn't stop me needing you." He said. She knew he must be talking to Sherlock, and her heart broke. A lone tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it. She quickly wiped her eyes and set about making coffee. She had to hold it together or she wouldn't be any help at all.

_Never meant to lie  
But I'm not the girl you think you know  
The more that I am with you  
The more that I am all alone_

When John finally came in and sat down in the faded arm chair, Molly forced a mug into his hands. "Drink that." She said, "Sober yourself up." Her mood had made her forceful but she doubted the man would respond to anything else. She turned back to the kitchen and began emptying her shopping on the counter. She had purchased several staple food items, as well as a small chicken which she set about preparing. She wasn't much of a cook, but she thought she could manage to bake a chicken.

John was silent, giving Molly plenty of time to think as she worked. She wasn't sure how long she could do this. Keep this secret. Sherlock's absence was creating an entirely different kind of grief that the others were experiencing. She knew that Sherlock was alive and that he was hiding in Paris but he was still gone. Where he was supposed to be was a great sucking void that everyone felt. The difference was that the others, thinking it would never be filled, could find a way around it. Molly, however could not because she knew that he was alive and well and perfectly able to restore the order of things around here.

Not that I'm so different  
Not that I don't see  
The dying light of what we used to be

It wasn't fair she thought, closing the oven door a bit too forcefully. Sherlock had used her, put too much pressure on her and he knew he'd be able to do it because she had never hesitated to do whatever he asked before. "Ass." She grumbled aloud. She was going mad here, trying to pretend that she knew nothing, and watch her friends grieve for someone who wasn't even dead.

_But how could I forgive you?  
You've changed!  
And I'm a liar by your side  
I'm about to lose my mind_

Well she wasn't going to do it any longer. Because she still respected Sherlock she would attempt to contact him first, but she would tell John Watson that his best friend lived. Perhaps the knowledge would stop this spiral downward. She was done lying.

You've been dreaming  
If you're thinking  
That I still belong to you  
And I've been dying,  
Because I'm lying to myself!

She walked in and sat as near to John as she could get taking the man's hand and smiling. "John I know you're hurting but you've got to snap out of this. Get some help, and start living you're life again. You owe it to yourself, love." She said kindly.

"He woke me up again just to leave and take half of me with him." John said, his empty tone made her shiver. "I'm not sure I can live my life again."

To that, Molly had no idea what to say. Instead she just sat with them. The two of them staring and the blank screen of the telly as the chicken baked.

Say it's over,  
Yes it's over  
But I need you anyway  
Say you love me but it's not enough


	4. My Heart Is Broken

** watch?v=f1QGnq9jUU0  
**

**My Heart Is Broken**

It had taken Molly over a month to convince him to see someone. She had gone with him to his first appointment and held his hand in the waiting room. Dr. Barns had prescribed the medication after his third visit and he had been taking it for almost a week now. It was a struggle to put the little pill in his mouth and swallow. It was an admission of weakness, a blow to his pride. But more than that it meant he would no longer hear Sherlock. As much as the detective's voice in his head frightened and depressed him, it had been nice to hear Sherlock's droll commentary on his life. It made him seem less…gone. But he was gone, and it was time John faced it.

_I pulled away to face the pain._  
_I close my eyes and drift away._  
_Over the fear that I will never find_  
_A way to heal my soul._  
_And I will wander 'til the end of time_  
_Torn away from you._

He had heard him less and less as the meds began to take over his system. Day ten he went a full 24 hours without hearing his friend's voice at all. He would catch a faint murmur every once in a while after that, mostly at night. That was when his heartbreak was worse. When it was quiet and he couldn't hear Sherlock prowling around the apartment or muttering softly in his sleep.

_My heart is broken_  
_Sweet sleep, my dark angel_  
_Deliver us from sorrow's hold_  
_(Over my heart)._

He almost wished…he almost wished he hadn't heeded Molly's advice and gone to that physiatrist. Without Sherlock's voice in his head he was forced to feel it. Forced to miss him. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he could recover.

_I can't go on living this way_  
_But I can't go back the way I came_  
_Chained to this fear that I will never find_  
_A way to heal my soul_  
_And I will wander 'til the end of time_  
_Half alive without you_

John visited Sherlock's grave for the first time since…well since the first time. He knelt on the grass near the headstone and placed a hand on the cool marble. "I can't hear you anymore. The doctor says I may have to take the medication for the rest of my life." He said, his head bowed. "I want to hate you for it, you know. For making me this. This crazy person that people look at with pity. I used to be a soldier and a doctor and now I'm just…a shell. But then I remember that after my deployment and before I met you I was a shell already and you filled me up, Sherlock. Somehow the most emotionless, heartless, egotistical man that I have ever met filled me up until I was a real person again and I am not sure that I can be a real person without you now." John began to laugh. "Perhaps I am mad. I can't live without a sociopath in my head and I'm talking to a marble slab." John stood, brushing the dirt off his trousers. "Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes." He said heavily and walked away.

_Change - open your eyes to the light_  
_I denied it all so long, oh so long_  
_Say goodbye, goodbye_


	5. The Other Side

** watch?v=HiIvtRg7-Lc  
**

**The Other Side**

_Make me whole again  
Open your eyes  
Taunted by the shadows  
Of your lie_

I know you're checking this email Sherlock, so don't ignore me. John…he's falling apart. He's on medication and they say that he might be like this for the rest of his life. He's doing better now but he would be so much happier if he knew you were alive. Keeping this secret was a lot to ask of me and I am not sure how much longer I can do it. I can't watch him go through this and know I can help. So if you don't come back in a week I'm telling him. I'm sorry, Sherlock.

Love, Molly

She heaved a sigh and clicked send, this was the third warning she had sent but this was the first time she had attempted to appeal to his emotional side. She had always steadfastly believed that he had one but she had been reluctant to tug at his heartstrings on this. She knew the risks but she had to do something. A tone went off on her computer and she jumped. She opened her email to find that it was from Sherlock. A chill ran down her spine. Even though she knew perfectly well that he was alive and had hoped for a response it was still a bit like receiving a message from beyond the grave.

Molly,

I understand your frustration but you cannot tell John that I am alive. It will solve nothing and will likely make his condition worse. Pull yourself together, Molly. I cannot come back until the time is right.

SH

Molly, wiped a tear from her face and deleted the email first from her inbox, and then from the trash folder, making sure it was gone. By the time this was over she had a sinking feeling she'd be making an appointment with John's physiatrist

. _  
Cold and far away  
Like you're not even mine  
Undo everything  
And take me_

Higher

John sat watching some crap show on television as he ate. Take away again. He had lost his taste for cooking. He had tried to get back to his life. He'd starting helping out at the clinic, he'd even helped out on a couple of cases for Molly but it didn't feel the same as it had before. Missing Sherlock was like having a constant pain that he couldn't get rid of and couldn't ignore. They kept telling him he was better, that he was normal now. He wasn't sure he believed them.

_Never believing what they say  
Cause I'm_

Counting the days  
To meet you on the other side  
I will always be  
Waiting  
Until the day that I see you  
On the other side  
Come and take me home

Was it normal to feel miserable all the time? Was it normal to wish that the sickness would overtake him again so he wouldn't feel so alone? He, leaned forward and grabbed the pill bottle of the table and shook a pill into his hand.

I'm not giving in  
I want you back  
Holding together by the shards of our past  
Stole my heart away  
I can't let you go  
Break these chains  
And let me fly to you

High above the world below  
Over and over in my mind

He wanted him back. He wanted Sherlock back and he knew that there was only one way to do that. With a look of determination he dropped the pill back in the bottle and sat back in his chair.

_I am so lost without my place  
Inside your heart  
I won't survive  
I need to know you hear me  
Awaken and release my love_


	6. Erase This

** watch?v=ijKSwcnqUyQ  
**

**Erase This**

John didn't want anyone, especially Molly, to know he had stopped taking the medication so he pretended. He went about his day as though he was still recovering, smiling and laughing and working and doing all those things that normal people were supposed to do. He was miserable.

_It's too late to change your mind  
Even though this fragile world is tearing apart at the seams  
We can't wash these sins away  
This sinking feeling everyday: I'm waking up in someone else's life_

Now that he was able to observe them he didn't understand how everyone else kept going like nothing was wrong when clearly nothing was right. At least not during the day. When the door of his flat closed behind him at night he allowed his mind to take over, allowed himself to believe the lie.

_Is it so hard for you?  
'Cause it's so hard for me  
To believe that what we dreamed could ever come to life again  
'Cause I cannot erase this lie_

"Sherlock." He said softly as he walked through the door. _I'm here as you knew I would be John. You need to take your medication. You can't keep on like this. _"I get enough of that crap from Molly, I don't need it from you." He snapped. _Fine would you rather I pandered to your need to sink farther into delusion? Let you play house with my apparition? _"Yes, actually that would be lovely." _Very well. You are perfectly normal. Everyone comes home to an empty house and starts talking to themselves. _"You are a complete prat, you know that?" _I'm only doing what you asked. _"A little less sarcasm, then. If I'm going to drive myself mad on purpose I'd rather do so without judgment."

Not gonna let this day go by  
I'm gonna save this wasted life  
And nothing can stand in my way

It was a strange thing. To go crazy and know it's happening. He was caught talking to himself by a nurse on more than one occasion. Fortunately she thought nothing of it. As time wore on it became easier to hide, or perhaps he was simply getting better at it. He had no way of knowing. Nevertheless his friends and family, even his psychiatrist, seemed to be buying the front of sanity that he put up. He hated living this lie but fessing up meant saying goodbye and that was a price he wasn't willing to pay. _  
Not enough to say goodbye  
Burn it til there's nothing left  
I'm drowning in the mess that I have made_

"Sherlock?" John said one evening. _Yes_? "Why did you do it? Jump I mean." _I told you, it was the only way. _"You keep saying that but you never explain what you mean." _Well I'm your hallucination. I know what you know. _John pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He felt as though he was on the verge of figuring something out, but he couldn't pin it down. Sherlock would have been able to, had he been here in the flesh, but the ghost of the great detective that lived in his head was useless.

The water's rising around us  
There is no other way down  
I only have myself to blame for it all


	7. Lost in Paradise

**** watch?v=3rnxlW5TrBs

**Lost in Paradise **

John rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. He had, had a particularly rotten day. A pretty blonde nurse that he had begun to fancy and a regular patent had come in to find him crying in his office around lunch and made something of a big production about it. He managed to play it off as your normal, everyday grief, his best friend had died only months ago after all, but he spent the rest of the day jumpy and on edge. He constantly checked behind him whenever he didn't have a wall at his back and he was sure that the nurse was following him, hoping to catch his deviant behavior again.

It was a huge relief to find that his shift was up and he could go home. He took the tube home and went straight for the couch, dropping the Union Jack pillow over his face and closing his eyes. "I can't smell you on this anymore." He said sadly.

_ I've been believing in something so distant  
As if I was human  
And I've been denying this feeling of hopelessness  
In me, in me_

The sound of Sherlock's voice was like a balm to the nervousness and paranoia that had plagued him all day. _If you wished to preserve my sent, wallowing about with it was the wrong way to go about it, _he said drolly.

"You're still mad at me for stopping my medication." It was a statement rather than a question. _Well spotted. _ "You really don't get it. You never did." _Get what? _"People, Sherlock." John rolled over and pressed his face into the pillow. "You were my best friend and I let you go off on your own and now you're gone and I miss you. I might be going mad but in some small way I get you back and I would rather have you than my sanity." He said. _You had no way of knowing what I was about. I made sure of it. _"You really don't know how friendship works do you?" __

All the promises I made  
Just to let you down  
You believed in me, but I'm broken

John went to the kitchen, grabbing the half full bottle of scotch and sat down in the arm chair, pillow in his lap. Rather than bother with a glass, he simply tipped the bottle into his mouth and drank until he felt that delightful numbing sensation that he longed for, then kept on drinking. Finally the now empty bottle slid from his fingers and the world around him faded to nothing.

_I have nothing left  
And all I feel is this cruel wanting_

"John!" Molly's voice sounded as though it was coming from far off. "John, wake up!" she shouted. "Mrs. Hudson call 999!"

Molly strained to remember training she hadn't used in several years, training that would keep people alive, as she pulled John into the floor and began heart compressions until the ambulance arrived.

As she hailed a taxi, she shot off a quick text to a number not stored in her phone.

**I'm not doing this anymore. He's going to kill himself for missing you and I won't be a part of it. I'm telling him.**

**-M**__

We've been falling for all this time  
And now I'm lost in paradise

The next thing John was aware of was the soft beeping of medical monitoring equipment and faint voices coming from out in the hall. The hospital then. He opened his eyes and slowly looked around. From the labels on his IV bags and the taste of bile that lingered in his mouth, he supposed he must have contracted alcohol poisoning but he remembered nothing after arriving home that evening. He groaned when he realized the impact this would have on his façade of sanity. Thinking about it made his head spin so he allowed himself to slip back into unconsciousness.

"John?" he heard Molly say as he began to stir. He slowly opened his eyes to look at her, worried face. She must have been the one to find him. "Molly, I'm sorry—" He began but she stopped him. "John I need to tell you something and It's going to be a bit of a shock." She said. "Sherlock is alive. He faked the jump and asked me to doctor the autopsy, he wouldn't explain why but he insisted that you and Mrs. Hudson and Greg would die if he didn't."

There was dead silence in the room for so long that Molly feared he wouldn't reply at all. When he finally did, however she rather wished he hadn't.

"YOU KNEW?" he bellowed. "YOU KNEW ALL THIS TIME AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?"

A nurse came running into the room, "What's going on in here?" she demanded.

"GET THIS WOMAN OUT OF MY SIGHT!" John shouted, pointing a damning finger at Molly, who was now crying.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. She stood and began to beat a hasty retreat, nearly knocking over the tray table in the process.

"Are you alright, Mr. Watson?" the nurse asked.

"Doctor." John snapped. "If I am going to be pandered to, it will be done with my proper title."

"Sorry, Dr. Watson." She said softly looking as though she wanted to follow Molly out of the room.

"Get me something to help me sleep." He said, his voice carrying the full authority of his former military standing. The nurse hurried out of the room and returned with a pill which John swallowed quickly and waved her away. "Faked your death." He said flatly to the empty room.__

As much as I'd like the past not to exist  
It still does

"Why in God's name would you do that?" _I told you it was the only way. Moriarty would have killed you. _"Hang, Moritarty!" he shouted, his voice was starting to crack. He must have been here longer than he thought but not long enough for them to discover the absence of the medication in his system.

_And as much as I'd like to feel like I belong here  
I'm just as scared as you_

"You took off to God knows where and left me her to rot, thinking you were dead, talking to nothing, and drinking myself to death?" he said his tone accusatory. _You clearly didn't quite drink yourself to death. I told you I was protecting you. _"Well you've done a bang up job of that." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm even more of a freak than I was before." he could hear the fear creep into his voice. _I'm sorry, John. _He could feel the sleeping pill begin to work. "So am I." he said, and settled down into the bed. He simply couldn't deal with this right now. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take hold.__

Run away, run away  
One day we won't feel this pain anymore

Take it all away  
Shadows of you  
Cause they won't let me go

Sherlock was still staring at his phone several seconds later. He felt sick. He should be worried about Molly reveling his secret but he couldn't stop thinking about John. It seemed that he was, in fact, hurting John more dead that he ever did while he was alive. __

Alone, and lost in paradise


	8. Sick

**I know this took a while and it's super short but this is really just a connector piece and I promise that after the holidays you'll have a nice long chapter to read! Thanks for reading!**

** watch?v=6CviH-MG170**

**Sick**

It had taken a full twelve hours and a bit of coxing from Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson to convince John to let Molly back in to the room but once he did he realized he'd been foolish. He could not blame her for doing everything Sherlock said. He had been doing the same for nearly three years himself. Even after his death he had been taking his cues from the consulting detective. After Molly had explained in full what had really gone on that day John willingly went back on his medication, but it seemed that Sherlock Holmes had become the voice in his head, for better or worse.

_Embrace the silence_

_'cause there's nothing  
That can change the way I feel  
Taken all that you wanted  
Now there's nothing  
That can change the way I feel_

Molly had given him the email address she had been using to contact Sherlock, but he had yet to use it. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk to him and had no idea what he would say, but in the end he wanted answers. He still couldn't believe that the man had faked his own death and he had to know why.

_Hold on, little girl  
The end is soon to come_

They don't understand how  
Sick we are  
Sick we are  
Of this bottomless  
Pit of lies  
Behind closed eyes

Sherlock,

Molly told me everything. We need to talk.

John

_Oceans between us  
And there's nothing  
That can change the way I feel  
I can still taste the poison  
Of every thought,  
Every breath I wasted here._

Hours later John lay in bed, staring at his ceiling as the light slowly faded. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his mobile rang. The read out showed only a number, one he didn't recognize save for the French area code. It was him. He stared at the phone until it stopped ringing and sighed. After a few seconds the phone rang again. This time John heaved himself into a sitting position and answered the call.

"Sherlock?" he said, hating how pathetic and needy he sounded. There was silence on the other end of the line of line for so long he began to think he'd been mistaken.

_Someday you'll know the pain  
Someday the light will break through  
And nothing you tell yourself  
Will save us from the truth_

"John."


	9. End of the Dream

**End of the Dream**

_I found a grave  
Brushed off the face  
Felt your light  
And I remember why I know this place  
_

John said nothing in response. Sherlock knew what he wanted to know and he refused to ask.

"He beat me, John." The consulting detective said softly. "He had guns pointed at Mrs. Huston, Lestrade…you. And the only thing that would call them off is if I jumped. I couldn't let you die."

"Why didn't you tell me?" John asked, his voice breaking.

"Because if you knew, he would have found out." Said Sherlock. "I need you to believe me when I say that there is no one on this earth that I trust more than you, John, and I took no pleasure in hurting you, but I couldn't watch you die."

"So you made me watch _you_ die?"

"I am a selfish creature, John. I have never pretended to be otherwise." Sherlock said. His voice had taken on a strange tone. "

_I found a bird  
Closing her eyes  
One last time  
And I wonder if she dreamed like me_

John shifted in the hospital bed. "I went mad missing you, you git."

"Molly told me." Sherlock said, "John, I'm coming back, I—"

John cut him off, "I'd rather you didn't." he said coldly "There is no need for you to run to my rescue. I'm fine."

"Very well." Sherlock said, matching John's cold tone. "Have a good life then, John Watson."

"You too." John said

__

As much as it hurts,  
Ain't it wonderful to feel?  
So go on and break your wings  
Follow your heart 'til it bleeds  
As we run towards the end of the dream

John was in the hospital for two weeks before they would let him leave. On suicide watch, no less. He finally managed to convince everyone that he had no intention to take his own life, and was released with four prescriptions and a determination to forget about Sherlock Holmes.

The worst part of this discovery, John decided, was that knowing Sherlock was alive actually made his life much easier to bear. As much as he loathed the idea that Sherlock's continued existence made that much of a difference in his mental health, it did. It was as if a weight had lifted off his chest.

Sherlock's betrayal still pained him, like a toothache or a sore muscle that hurt every time he moved the wrong way. But he no longer felt as though he was falling down the rabbit hole. His life settled into a pattern after his hospital stay. Remarkably he was able to keep his job at the clinic. He guessed a free clinic that was short staffed couldn't afford to be squeamish about a bout of mental illness, but he was watched like a hawk.

He worked, he went to therapy sessions, he shopped, he cooked, he even when out with Molly, and Greg a few times. Yes he was getting on quite well without Sherlock.

_I'm not afraid  
I pushed through the pain  
And I'm on fire  
I remember how to breathe again_

Six months later, John sat in his living room, eating a plate of fish and chips when his mobile rang. He glanced at the screen and smiled.

"Hello, Molly." He said around a mouthful of chips, then swallowed.

"John can you come over?" she asked, she sounded a bit nervous.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The flat next to mine was broken into last night and I don't really fancy walking in alone." She explained. John looked at his half-full plate and sighed.

"I'll meet you at work, shall I?" he said, standing up and looking about for his keys.

"Thank you, John." She said, relief in her voice. She repeated her thanks when they reached the door of her flat.

"Molly, it's really no trouble. Besides I would rather you call me than be attacked by some common thief." He insisted. Once Molly unlocked her door, John preceded her into the flat, walking slowly and looking about with an alert expression even though he didn't truly expect to find anyone lurking in the small space.

Which explained why he reached for a gun that he no longer kept at his hip when a voice sounded behind him.

"Hello, John." Sherlock Holmes said calmly, as if lying in wait for him in someone else's living room was how he always greeted his friends. _  
_

_Why must we fall apart to understand how to fly?  
I will find a way  
Even without wings_

John felt as though the ground beneath him had disappeared. Over a year ago he had watched Sherlock fall from the hospital roof and seen his lifeless body lying on the street below and now he was standing only a few feet away, as hale and hardy as you please, fixing him with an intense expression.

He'd like to say he held on to a reasonable amount of anger at having been deceived but every ounce of it faded away and he lunged forward, throwing his arms around the detective's thin shoulders and holding him tight. For a long moment he thought Sherlock was not going to yield to the embrace but eventually, the other man's arms wrapped around him tightly enough to hinder his breathing, but John didn't care. His best friend was back and his world had narrowed until all it contained was the two of them.

_Follow your heart  
'Til it bleeds  
And we've gone to the end of the dream_


	10. Oceans

**Oceans**

_Don't want to be the one to walk away  
But I can't bear the thought of one more day  
I think I finally understand what it means to be lost  
_

"I told you not to come." John said lamely when he finally pulled away.

"You did." Sherlock replied "But your reaction to my return could be seen as somewhat contradictory." He smiled faintly.

"Well I didn't want to get blood on Molly's carpets." He said. Sherlock looked down at the rug under his feet. "It might improve the look of them." He said.

Molly finally spoke up from the doorway, "Oy, I paid 100 pounds for that rug!" she said indignantly.

Sherlock and John looked at each other and laughed. John walked over and slid his arm around Molly, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

John had devoted many hours over the past year wishing he had his friend back and at first it was wonderful, but the reality was that Sherlock's actions had left many scars. For Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade, it was simply shock and stress, but John and Sherlock himself faced more grave consequences.

Coming back from the dead was a messy business it turned out. Any attempt to get back to his old life resulted in someone crying fraud which Sherlock was forced to keep a lawyer on retainer to deal with and his mother, who had never called more than once a year his entire adult life, began phoning every day, simply to chat.

He had moved back into the flat on Baker Street with John and he fully expected to pick up where he left off with the doctor, but he was finding it to be difficult. The year had changed his friend irrevocably. Sherlock's suicide had affected him permanently regardless of the fact that Sherlock's demise had not been quite so permanent.

_Can't find the road to lead us out of this  
A million miles from where we burned the bridge  
Can't keep pretending everything's going to be alright  
With the whole world falling down on me_

John had gone to bed hours ago, leaving Sherlock to stare at his computer screen. There were files and print-outs scattered all over the kitchen table. After looking at everything hundreds of times, Sherlock bolted up out of his chair and hurried towards John's room, throwing open the door and barging inside.

Awakened by the commotion, John sat straight up in bed and aimed a gun he had produced seemingly from nowhere, leveled it a Sherlock, and fired. _  
_

_Cross the oceans in my mind  
Find the strength to say goodbye  
In the end you never can wash the blood from your hands  
_

For several seconds neither John nor Sherlock moved. Sherlock stood frozen in the doorway, his eyes wide and his face even paler than usual, while John sat with his gun drawn and his expression wild. Suddenly, the hand that held the gun began to shake and he dropped it onto the bed.

"Did I hit you?" He asked in a strained voice.

"No." Sherlock replied, by then having regained his normal composure. "You seemed to have killed the door frame, however."

"I could have killed you." John said.

"But you didn't." Sherlock said. He came to perch on the edge of the bed where John had moved after dropping the gun.

"Only because I missed." He said softly and pressed his hands to his face.

"John, don't be—" Sherlock began

"Don't." John said. "Don't try to explain this away. I shot at you and you could have been killed. I can't stay here, and keep putting you and Mrs. Hudson in danger."

_Fallen so far from where we were before  
You'll never find what you've been searching for  
Something to fill the void and make up for all of those missing pieces of you  
Like I could only dream to do  
_

The next morning John moved out, despite Sherlock's protests, and moved into a psychiatric facility. He wouldn't speak to anyone or receive visitors, even his sister, who tried several times. Sherlock texted him so many times that he finally turned off his phone after the first week.

Had he not missed the shot, Sherlock would be dead, for real this time, and it would have been at his hands. He simply couldn't take the risk. It was better, he decided, to sever contact completely. He couldn't hurt loved ones he didn't have.

_Oh, we never learn  
So we fall down again  
Heaven, help me find a way to dream within this nightmare_


	11. Never Go Back

**Never Go Back**

"Sherlock, I know you don't want to talk about it, but—" Mrs. Hudson began.

"Mrs. Hudson, enough." Sherlock barked. "I do not need a new roommate. John will be back soon and we can put this whole messy business behind us."

"But Sherlock, he has committed himself." Mrs. Hudson said, reaching out to clasp Sherlock's hand. "He has to get himself well and that might be a long time." Mrs. Hudson had taken to speaking to him as if he were a child. Sherlock merely glared at her.

"You could call him you know." She said, trying a different tactic.

"I prefer to text." Sherlock said simply. Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and stood.

"Well, not everyone does." She said, and patted him on the shoulder gently before leaving.

_Everything is so dark  
And I know there's something wrong  
But I can't turn the light on_

After staring at his phone for two hours, Sherlock made a decision. Several taps of the screen later, he had the phone pressed to his ear.

"Mount Hope Centre, this is Clara speaking." Came a flat, female voice.

_In that split second change  
When you knew we couldn't hold on  
I realized I lived to love you_

John lay on his cot facing the wall, content for the moment to simply wallow in his own misery. He heard a door open and close behind him.

"If those are my meds, just leave them." He mumbled.

"Then how will I know that you've taken them"

John sat up straight. His heart jumped into his throat and his stomach ended up somewhere around his knees. Slowly he turned around and sure enough, standing in the door wearing an orderly's uniform, was Sherlock. _  
_

_Save yourself  
Don't look back  
Tearing us apart until it's all gone_

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" John demanded.

"You wouldn't answer my texts or calls and you wouldn't receive any visitors, what was I supposed to do?" he said.

"Respect my wishes, perhaps?" John hissed.

"Nonsense. You're wishes are unreasonable." Sherlock replied.

"Unreasonable?" John sputtered. "I almost killed you, you git!"

"Stop shouting, John, you'll alert a real orderly and we'll both be in trouble."

Sherlock attempted to remain calm as he looked at his partner. The man's skin was nearly as pale as his own, and he looked too thin. His hair and eyes had taken on a dull quality.

"You look awful." He said, the concern creeping into his voice. Without thinking he moved to sit next to John on the bed. _  
_

_I won't give up on you  
I can feel you in my heart, just show me the way  
I don't belong here_

John flinched away. "Leave me alone, Sherlock." He said. "I'm not coming with you. I don't belong there anymore."

"Of course you belong there." Sherlock protested. "Baker Street is your home."

"I know, and I miss it, trust me."

"Then why—" Sherlock asked

"Because next time I may not miss." John said half shouting.

_I can still see your face  
Where it's burned into my mind  
I die every time  
I close my eyes, you're always there_

"John, listen to me." Sherlock said, shifting closer. "The things you have been through are more than most people can bear and I know that I am the cause of a lot of them and for that I am sorry. If I had seen any other way…" His voice trailed off for a moment. "But the past is the past, and you are the most brave, intelligent, capable man I have ever met and if anyone can get a handle on this it's you."

John nearly gasped at his words. He didn't think that Sherlock was even capable of complementing anyone but himself. He missed his chance to point this out when the other man went on.

"I need you, John. I'm…better with you and I think you are better with me, the bullet hole in your bedroom doorframe notwithstanding." He smiled at this and John couldn't help but smile back. "I won't force you, but I am asking you." Sherlock said. "Come home?"

He stood and made to leave. Just before the door closed behind him he said something so softly that John wasn't entirely sure that he'd heard it.

"Please."

_The only world I've ever known sleeps beneath the waves  
But I'm the one who's drowning  
Without your love  
I am lost and I can never go back  
I can never go back home_


	12. Swimming Home

**Swimming Home**

_Way down  
I've been way down  
Underneath this skin  
Waiting to hear my name again  
_

Sherlock slammed the door of his flat and threw himself onto the couch and closed his eyes. He was unaccustomed to not getting exactly what he wanted and he had never wanted anything more than he wanted John back; in this he had failed. He reached above his head and grasped the neck of his violin and pulled it down from the back of the couch. He frowned when he realized that the bow hadn't come down with it and groped about for it, eyes still closed.

"It's on the arm, you git." Came a voice from above him.

Sherlock's eyes flew open to find John standing over him, a faint smile on his face.

"John." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. He stood slowly and moved to stand right in front of his friend.

"Hello, Sherlock." He said briskly, reaching out to clasp the other man on the shoulder. Sherlock would have none of that, however. With a wide grin, he threw his arms around John, squeezing tightly. "You're back." He murmured into the other man's neck.

_I'm sorry  
Nothing can hold me  
I adore you still  
but I hear them calling  
And nothing can hold me_

"Well you said 'please,'" John said with a laugh. "I wasn't sure you even knew that word." He sobered and pulled back slightly. "The truth is that place was miserable. I didn't realize how much I missed you and Baker Street until you showed up today. I couldn't stay a minute longer." At some point during this speech his hand had moved to cup Sherlock's cheek. "I'm still not…" he trailed off.

"John, it doesn't matter to me what you are or are not. It never did." Sherlock said. "We'll figure it out together." Sherlock's voice had taken on a soft tone that John had never heard before and without either of them consciously doing so, they had moved closer until their faces were inches apart. What happened next was so natural that it was a wonder it hadn't happened before.

John slid his hand around the back of Sherlock's neck, tangling his fingers in the curls at the back of the other man's head, and closed the distance between them and their lips met. The kiss was quick but was followed by another and then another, each one longer than the last. "John." Sherlock whispered against his lips. His voice was horse and John took it as an invitation to slide his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth. _  
_

_Way down  
(Do you really want me?)  
All the way down  
(Do you really want me?)  
I will hear your voice  
(Do you really want me?)  
But I'll no longer understand  
(No one's really loved me)_

When the other man froze John feared he had done something wrong but it seemed he was just surprised because seconds later he groaned and pressed himself closer.

"I didn't plan on this when I decided to come back here." John murmured. He felt Sherlock smile into the kiss.

"You even managed to surprise me." He said. They both laughed and with one more quick peck, John began pulling Sherlock toward the bedroom. __

_I was looking to the sky  
When I knew I'd be swimming home  
And I cannot betray my kind  
They are here - it's my time_

John was only awakened once that night with nightmares and with Sherlock there to calm him down he went back to sleep almost immediately. The next morning, he woke up with his body half pined underneath Sherlock's, unsure what had stirred him from sleep until he realized Sherlock's phone was ringing. He struggled out from under his lover's body and stumbled into the living room.

"Hello." He said, his voice thick with sleep.

"John?" Detective Lestrade asked in surprise.

"Yeah, moved back in." he grumbled, unwilling to give his friend a more detailed explanation over the phone. "What is it, Greg?"

"Need you and Sherlock for a case. Why isn't he answering his texts?"

John smiled to himself. "He mislaid his phone I think. Do we need to meet you at the station?" he asked.

"No, I'll text you the address." He said, his tone slow and suspicious.

"alright, meet you there." John said quickly and hung up before the seasoned cop was able to ask any more questions.

He walked back into the bedroom to find that Sherlock was once again asleep and had now taken over the whole bed. It was unusual for Sherlock to sleep this long, or at all really, but then again he hadn't exactly had a routine day. As he crawled up to wake him with a kiss he thought that the man before him just might have more of a hold on him than his illness. Maybe things really wound get better.

_And nothing can hold me_


End file.
